


A Vampire, an Elf, and a Dragon Walk into a Bar

by kaeltale



Series: Half a Millennium of Savoir-faire [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Created by a_sparrows_fall, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, In peril, Philosophizing, Podfic Sample Available, Random & Short, The Humanist - Freeform, Vampires Dragons and Elves oh my!, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 20:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12614564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeltale/pseuds/kaeltale
Summary: Sometimes the encounters of the past do not reveal their significance until many years into the future. One such fated meeting would ripple out in ways Emiel Regis would never have predicted. But then again, he was young, and he was on holiday.





	A Vampire, an Elf, and a Dragon Walk into a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> [a_sparrows_fall](http://archiveofourown.org/users/a_sparrows_fall/pseuds/a_sparrows_fall) has gone and made me cry with his beautiful podfic clip of a scene from this story! I will link it at the appropriate location in the fic for those who want a taste of audio to go along with their reading, so keep your eyes peeled for it. You may also find it [HERE](http://asparrowsfall.tumblr.com/post/171397163502/so-a-while-back-i-did-a-podfic-sample-of) on his Tumblr page. It's so damned professional and the sound quality and background effects are just... just! AHH! Thank you so much Sparrow!
> 
> There are sections of dialogue in italics that are said in Elder Speech, but the rest of the conversation happens in common tongue, apart from a few words and phrases. I hope I made it clear and understandable. Please let me know in the comments if it's confusing and I'll try to update it based on feedback.

The dewy morning air was thick with scents of lavender, honey, and cherry blossoms. Emiel relaxed his grip on Carmilla’s hand as he took in the full experience that was the mountain path’s first glimpse of Dol Blathanna. Though he’d heard rumors of the pristine elven paradise, he had never been near the Blue Mountains, and was not prepared for how entirely inadequate words could be in the description of this enchanting land. It was as if the valley had been crafted by God as a personal haven, if Emiel were inclined to believe in such a phantom. He marveled at the play of color in front of him. The morning mists hung delicately over the river at the valleys heart, lending a golden glow to the pink, purple, yellow and blue fields peeking out between equally vibrant forests of oak, wisteria, and cherry trees. This retreat would be the perfect panacea for their worries.

Carmilla seemed equally amazed by the sights and smells before them. She dropped Emiel’s hand and ran to the edge of the overlook, her face stretched brightly in a beam of pure joy. Wind blew locks of auburn hair across her face as she turned to usher him wordlessly to her side. She stretched out her arms, clad in grey embroidered silk, as if trying to claim the valley for herself, and leaned forward in the breeze, breathing deeply.

“This is unlike anything I have ever seen! Emiel, look! What kind of bird is that there?”

She pointed down on the winding path beneath them to a creature no human eyes would have spotted at such a distance. Emiel focused, and immediately found the rainbow hues of the bird in question.

“I believe that is a type of finch, by the shape of the body and beak. I’ve never seen one with such variation in its plumage!”

"See? There are still some things in the world you do not know,” Carmilla teased him, poking at his ribcage.

Emiel grabbed her in a retaliatory embrace. How long had it been since he'd last seen her so carefree?

“Thank you for coming with me.”

Carmilla tensed, and pushed back to look him straight in the eyes. “Just remember your promise.”

“I will.”

Carmilla’s pointed teeth gleamed in the rays of the dawn when she smiled at him again, before falling back onto his chest. “So when should we expect the full moon next?”

“A fortnight still. Time enough to settle in and scout the ideal locale for mid-night gliding.”

She stepped back once more, looking over the valley. “Where will we be staying? Do you have a plan?”

“Not… entirely,” he pulled up her hand to watch his fingers lace with hers, “but the elves settled this land long ago. There must be a cozy necropolis or two, if not a more naturally carved abode along the cliffs. With minimal effort, I think we can find something suitable to our needs.”

“True enough. Though camping under starlight has not been such an inconvenience either, so long as you were there when I awoke.”

She dropped his hand and continued down the path, leaving Emiel to follow after. The past few years had been a trial for them both. When they weren’t at each other’s throats, both literally and metaphorically, he was being herded off by their crypt-mates; seduced into another night of revelry and libation. Which would ultimately lead into yet another argument. How long had it been since he and Carmilla had simply enjoyed one another’s company? His previous clash with sobriety had only lasted 3 months, and even then the strain of withdrawal had soured any peace between them. Under such pressure, how could he refuse the gifts his friends brought him for the blood moon?

Perhaps this bit of seclusion would help him kick his habit for good, away from the lure of his mischievous kin. After all, the nearest human settlement was a week’s flight from the valley, and he had much more important activities to concern himself with on their vacation.

Carmilla reached for his hand as he caught up to her, as if she understood his thoughts, and gave him a knowing grin. Perhaps she’d drawn a bit too much of his blood last fight, and was reading his heart. They’d yet to bind themselves in any formal way, but accidental bonds weren’t unusual for young, volatile pairs like them. The thought that a part of him pumped through her veins gave Emiel a secret thrill, as if they shared in some forbidden taboo.

He shook his thoughts away and once again took in his surroundings as they neared the valley floor. The source of the distant river they’d spied earlier trickled past their feet as glacial runoff formed into the banks of a stream. Just past the rivulets and waterfalls of liquid snow, Emiel spotted a cozy looking alcove, carpeted in a thick layer of virgin moss and walls draped in ferns.

A wicked light touched Emiel’s anthracite eyes, as he suddenly pulled Carmilla in the direction of the alcove. She hardly missed a step, having noticed the cloistered bed of moss just a moment earlier, and feeling a similar inclination toward it. Their feet splashed carelessly through the river rocks, soaking their clothes with the refreshing coolness of the mountains, but before they reached their destination, Carmilla had a different idea, and she pulled on her partner’s hand, throwing them both off balance and falling back into a pool of ice water.

“Ee!” Carmilla cried with enthusiasm as she hit the surface. Emiel caught his balance just in time to watch her glare and giggle like a child. “Oh, come on! Don’t ruin the fun! Jump in!”

She didn’t have to ask twice. Emiel only took a second to throw off his black jerkin and linen doublet, aiming the discarded fabric at the shore, before he jumped in after her. The shock from the water was not unpleasant to his frost-resistant skin, but rather invigorating. Through the pleasantly prickling stream, his hands quickly found their quarry, grabbing Carmilla by the slippery fabric of her silk tunic. She splashed at him in feigned resistance, laughing all the while, before finally setting her hands on his shoulder and allowing him to wrap his arms around her waist.

For one perfect moment, they held each other, foreheads touching, breaths colliding in the air between them. Emiel studied the way the greys of her tunic reflected in the silver of her eyes, and the dark reds of her hair contrasted with her ivory face, drawing him in to her painted lips.

“Mmm,” he hummed, “absolutely flawless.”

“Flatterer.”

“Not a bit.”

She touched her lips to his, as if to reinforce his words. Emiel pushed deeper into the kiss before she broke it, drawing out her next thoughts alluringly against his cheek.

“I want you like this, always. Clear of mind and light of heart; utterly charming.” She ran her hand down across his bare chest, settling at the laces of his trousers, using her other hand to hold close to him in the crystalline pool.

“How can I deny such an earnest plea,” he teased, running his hands down her back, tracking down the familiar curves of her hips and thighs.

All at once, she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him into a frenzied kiss. Tongues danced as Emiel pulled her tunic up to get at the hem of her tights. Carmilla moaned her approval as his hands found her naked flesh beneath the fabric, and his body responded in kind. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed this, and how much they had needed it. When he finally entered her, all facades faded away, faces shifting to their natural forms, etched in bestial ecstasy.

Anyone who might have traveled the valley’s hidden trails that day would have found two beautiful monsters lost to the world in blissful abandon.

* * *

**Sparrow's brilliant audio clip starts here! Enjoy!**

When Emiel awoke from the alcove’s mossy bed, he was the one to find himself alone. He grabbed his doublet, hung to dry on a nearby branch, along with his trousers, and waited for his lover’s return. His mind quickly turned dark corners when left to itself, and he began to list in his head all the reasons Carmilla might not come back. Perhaps that had been a last hurrah before she finally left him? Perhaps he had not been as attentive to her needs? Perhaps she wanted some small revenge for all the times she woke to find him drunk? The thought made him thirsty. He kicked up storms of pebbles as a distraction, watching as they plunked into the rushing waters of the stream.

A twig snapped in response, inaudible to human ears but perfectly clear to his own. Emiel turned a circle, surveying the perimeter for any sign of movement. He didn’t need to wait long.

In his search for a distant intruder, Emiel neglected to notice the tide rising at his feet. In an instant, the stream ran up his legs and froze into ice, holding him trapped to the rocky shore. He struggled, claws extended and slashing at his frigid bonds, but some form of magic made his blows slide off with no effect. He was similarly prevented from taking mist form.

“ _Calm yourself, monster_ ,” a proud female voice rang out from the trees in the Elder tongue, “ _I know what you are, and your effort is senseless._ ”

Fangs bared and skin stretched back, Emiel searched with bat-like eyes in the direction of the voice. Two elves seemed to materialize from the forest behind him, one, a female with hair reminiscent of mahogany bark, and the other, a male with sunken eyes, dressed in the trappings customary to a warrior of their kind. The warrior aimed his bow carefully at Emiel’s head. The vampire might have laughed if not for the cold certainty in the eyes of the she-elf, who wore not a scrap of protective clothing over her thin yellow gown. Her numerous adornments of pearl, coral, and amber suggested one explanation; that she was a sorceress.

“Why have you come to the Valley of Flowers?” the she-elf asked casually in the common tongue, as if she’d seen Emiel’s kind enough to be unimpressed with this particular specimen. She walked around to face him, her bare feet unaffected by the river-worn pebbles beneath them.

Emiel renewed his human guise, and studied his inquisitor. He’d had run-ins with elves before, but never with an elven sorceress, and he was unsure of what to expect from her. Very few creatures in the world gave vampires cause for fear, but fear can often be found in the unknown. He knew enough to treat her with caution, and instinct whispered that any being displaying such confidence could pose a threat.

“ _I’m here on holiday_ ,” he replied simply, honestly, and in the elves’ native tongue.

“ _On holiday? Is there some occasion? Are devils now welcome guests of Filavandrel aén Fidháil?_ ”

“ _Not to my knowledge. I merely wanted to confirm the beauty of this proclaimed elven paradise for myself. I’ve not been disappointed._ ”

The bowman behind him sneered, “ _You sully the land you walk on, blood-drinker. Dana Méadbh grows sick at your presence._ ”

“ _Silence Cedric_ ,” the she-elf commanded softly.

The elf named Cedric was silent.

“ _What is your name, devil?_ ”

“Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, and to whom do I have the pleasure of being held captive?”

“I am Ida Emean aep Sivney, Aen Saevherne of the Blue Mountains, currently acting as emissary of our king. Nothing enters this valley unknown to us; not even devils can avoid the eyes of the ocelots. You bring the smell of death with you.” Ida looked him over with distaste, as if he truly did smell of rotting corpses.

“Aen Saevherne? A knowing one? What an honor that King Filavandrel would send a sage out to welcome me,” Emiel mocked, though he felt a chill crawl up his spine at her title. Aen Saevherne were rare and reclusive in nature. The magic of such a meeting was not lost on him.

“ _D'yaeblenn_ like you demand our king’s highest attention. Now,” she remained unaffected by his jeers, “I find we are at an impasse. I require that you leave our valley, but I cannot trust to let you freely walk away. I understand, Emiel, that your kind does not hold fast to death even when dismembered. It seems the only safe way to remove you without harm is in pieces.”

“You understand much, as your title implies, but you forget something, I think.”

“And what would that be?”

“I did not come alone.”

As if on cue, green mist swept beneath Cedric, pulling him down hard on his back. The mist coalesced above him into the snarling wrathful body of a vampiress, claws held menacingly to the elf’s neck. Her metallic eyes bore into Ida’s, hardly needing to elaborate in words the terms of her ransom.

Immediately, three more elves stepped out of the forest, arrows nocked and then loosed, not one missing their target.

Carmilla screamed, but did not relinquish her prey.

“Fire as you like,” her voice growled monstrously, “but he will die, and you will feel my fury next. Release Emiel now!”

Ida nodded to her guards, “I see little else can be done, so trust becomes necessary.” She waved her hands, needing no incantation to dissipate her spell.

The ice around Emiel’s legs shattered in a swarm of white butterflies, floating off into nothingness. He tested his legs, feeling the life returning to them, then smirked at the sorceress and licked his lips. His earlier thirst still clung to his mind, and now he had the perfect excuse.

“I’ve never had the pleasure of tasting the finely aged blood of an Aen Saevherne. An exquisite welcoming gift from the king.”

“EMIEL, YOU PROMISED!” Carmilla roared, but was drowned out by the thundering of another, larger beast.

Emiel watched in awe at the sight above him. The trees whipped and stirred as if struck by hurricane winds, and the stream seemed to flow uphill as waves pushed back against the force of beating wings. Gold flashes dazzled the eyes of all who beheld them, nearly blinding the vampires.

A voice filled Emiel’s head.

* * *

**“Be at peace, children of the Cataclysm. There’s no more honor in this fight than there is in a child squashing ants, but erudite, amaranthine creatures such as yourselves must have something better to exchange than blows.”**

The golden dragon landed next to Ida, facing Emiel so the vampire could see the molten flames dripping from its hanging jaw. Emiel’s claws retracted, the smirk vanished from his face, and Carmilla misted to his side to take his hand.

The three guards ran to Cedric’s aid, helping him to his feet. Ida stepped back cautiously and took in the sight of the dragon by her side. Its wingspan was immense, though its body was only slightly larger than a horse. It arched its back in a cat-like stance. Its tail curled around behind the sorceress and flicked at the banks of the stream in a display of provocation.

Though every member of the odd group stared gawking at the dragon, before anyone could see a change, there was a man in its place. The man had thick, curly brown hair, a scraggly beard and amiable bright eyes. He wore a humble tunic under a cotton coat, adorned only with a vibrant crest: three black birds aligned on a golden field. He looked nothing like a dragon.

“My name is Villentretenmerth,” the dragon said, “but you can call me Borch.”

The elves and vampires all stood silent for a moment, but Ida came to her senses first.

“Borch. I am Ida Emean aep—“

“Yes, yes, my dear. I heard all that before. Who is your friend, Emiel?” Borch nodded at Carmilla.

The vampiress stepped forward and with the brazen lilt of a noble lady proclaimed, “My name is Mircalla von Karnstein, but you can call me Carmilla.”

“Carmilla? How delightful!” The dragon neither faltered nor scoffed at her display, seeming to enjoy the spirit of it. “And what about your lovely guards, Ida?”

Ida nodded once again at the warrior. The elves of her guard shouldered their bows and gathered near the dragon, giving the vampire pair a wide berth.

“I am Cedric,” he stated plainly, and the other elves followed suit.

“Toruviel aep Sihiel,” said a dark-haired she-elf with fierce eyes.

“Aelirenn,” announced an equally proud looking youth with golden hair.

“Iorveth,” answered the last one, coldly. His flawless face shrouded in black hair could hardly be distinguished from his brother elf if not for the other’s weary eyes.

“Good. Now we’re past the pleasantries, and we can get to the meat of this moment,” Borch smiled, unconcerned with the tension in the air. “But first, we should find a more comfortable place to seat ourselves. I saw a shaded arbor just past the river’s bend. Would you all care to join me?”

* * *

The gravity of the moment seemed to hold a spell over those who witnessed it. Ida, enchanted by a thing she did not know, listened with unrivaled focus to the words of this living legend. Cedric and his team relaxed against the knotted roots of the ancient grove, keeping wary eyes on their mistress. Emiel, ever a slave to his curious mind, engaged Borch in lengthy conversation as Carmilla sat beside him. Her patience wearing thin, she tapped out broken rhythms on a nearby stump.

“I’ll say this plainly,” Borch interrupted Emiel’s latest conjecture, clearly seeing the direction of the vampire’s gist, “you belong to a doomed species.” He observed the crowd, “Vampires and elves alike, and dragons too. We hold this shared fate.”

Aelirenn spat, fidgeting with the fletching of an arrow, and Iorveth shifted uneasily. Cedric gave them both a knowing glance, and they held their tongues. Toruviel pretended not to notice.

Ida was silent.

“Whatever could make you think that?” Emiel waved away the notion with lively gesticulation. “Ours are arguably the most powerful, wise, and certainly the most long-lived of all species on the continent. You could burn a city to the ground in a single breath if you chose to. How do you reason that one out?”

Carmilla changed her rhythm once again, as if a different pattern might spell out her frustration.

Borch’s smile fell, and he looked the vampire in the eye, “Humanity. Of all the creatures who trespass on this world, by white ships or unfortunate displacement, I’ve found humans to be the most dangerous,” his eyes seemed to glow with an odd sense of wonder, “and the most fascinating.”

Emiel broke out in laughter, clutching his stomach to emphasize his mirth, “Humans? Hah! Pull the other one! Your jokes are in bad taste.”

Borch’s eyes leapt up as his smile returned, indulging in the vampire’s humor. The elven guards studied their bows.

Ida remained silent.

“Surely, you meant to say that humans were the species you _pitied_ the most, and I would hardly—“

“They are the most dangerous creatures to ever set foot in this world, and I admire their tenacity.”

“It’s only funny the first time, dragon.”

“How much do you know of dragons, my dear? How many have you met in your lifetime?”

“I know there are four kinds, though now I must admit a fifth. I know they breathe fire and spit poison, that they have hides resistant to magic, and that their tears and teeth are invaluable in the concoctions of alchemists. I know they are not the same as slyzards, wyverns, or forktails – as I am not the same as a nosferat or katakan. They have existed in this sphere as long as dwarves and gnomes, and in the distant lands of Zerrikania they are worshiped as gods.” The vampire read out, as if he held the textbook in his hand.

“And how many have you met?”

“Only you.”

“And how long have you walked the earth?”

“215 years by the human reckoning of time, 322 by the calculations of elves.” Though if any had to guess, Emiel looked to be no older than 23.

“And I was not the _only_ first encounter of you day, am I correct?” Borch’s grin grew wider, and Emiel couldn’t help but feel he was being backed into a corner.

“You are correct,” Emiel glanced at Ida, who watched him as if she knew the exact dimensions of the corner he was in.

“There is one truth that surpasses all your theories and debates,” Ida pounced, having waited long enough for Borch to make his point, “We grow few, and humans spread like wildfire. Whatever you may say about the individual strengths of our species, it is clear that humanity as a whole has some natural advantage that we, in our arrogance, do not perceive.”

Aelirenn snapped her arrow, threw it to the ground, and stomped her feet as she approached the inner circle, followed by Iorveth. Cedric and Toruviel jumped for their bows, but did not move from their vantage points. Carmilla’s rapping stilled.

“I’ve heard enough of this, Aen Saevherne. If we are doomed as you say, why carry on like dogs, begging for table scraps and pretending we still have dignity?” Aelirenn’s beautiful face twisted in ways that would make a vampire proud, “If we are to die, why wait until our culture and lands are stripped from us, why watch our cities be defiled with lifeless ramparts and human filth? If there is no hope, why do we sulk in Dol Blathanna instead of showing humanity our teeth? We are not hounds, but wolves!”

“And in your howling, you will damn us all,” Ida stood to face the girl, and seemed somehow taller than her height allowed.

Iorveth cut into the air with a swift gesture, standing by the young elf’s side, “We are damned already, by your account. If our elders will not lead us, we must lead ourselves.”

Carmilla, finally having had enough, turned on Emiel, eyes cutting into him like daggers. “We were here to spend time together, Emiel! Not to sit amongst your bickering friends and waste away on idle chitter.”

“You will not be _vacationing_ in Dol Blathanna, _d'yaebl_. You are not welcome here!” Ida’s eyes flashed, and her height grew, casting an unnatural shadow on the glade.

 “Who are you to order me, she-elf? I could slit your throat before you blink, and bring a swift end to your so-called _immortally_. You live by my gift, because I do not feel curious enough to test my strength against a dragon.”

“Carmilla, please. This won’t be much longer,” Emiel pleaded. He had no whims of testing himself against a dragon either.

Borch shook his head. “Chaos and Order,” he said, simply.

Ida grimaced and shrunk back, Aelirenn crossed her arms, and Carmilla huffed, but all turned their attention to Borch.

“It may not be apparent at first glance, but humans have a proclivity towards Order, and our species, towards Chaos. Perhaps not every individual, but as a whole humans adapt quickly. They set new rules and cast out antiquated ones, and they build on centuries of knowledge in a single, short generation. In less than 300 years, Nordlings have shaped the Chaotic North to the Order of their desires. Emiel, in your 200 years of life, how much have you changed?”

Emiel knew enough to not permit the question a response. It would have done nothing for his cause.

 “We, dragons included, are no longer masters of this sphere, but guests at the preference of our human hosts. It’s no longer gnomes, vran, or elves who decide the fate of this world. We all live and die according to our influence on human society. Those species which conform, filling human needs, flourish alongside them, and those who pose a risk, such as dragons and elves, are hunted or pushed to the limits of the possible.”

Emiel opened his mouth as if to refute, but quickly closed it again.

Borch, ever smiling, continued, “Though higher vampires, such as you, have less to fear than most, I’d like to point out that once there were no human mages, only elves. The humans learned from the elves, and turned their magic on them. Dragons too, had no fears on this continent, being unquestionable gods of Chaos and destruction, stealing all the riches from the land and blazing scars of ash into the earth. Now we sleep in our caves and dread the day our hoards will be discovered by greedy knights. Our hides are cut up for their alchemists. Give the humans cause and they will find a way to snuff you out.”

“This,” Ida interrupted, “I have understood through a student of mine. A young Aen Saevherne, Ithlinne, has had prophetic dreams. She and Cedric both have had such visions, though he prefers to drown them out. Ithlinne speaks of things the Aen Saevherne can feel in the land. Dana Méadbh already mourns our loss. The end comes for us all. The world will be reborn, but we will not be welcome in it.”

“I hate what the humans have done to this world.” Cedric spoke up from the edge of the grove, brows creasing over his sunken eyes. “I hate what all of the vile creatures of the Cataclysm have done. Elves respect the land, we journeyed to this world with the purpose of bettering it. We live in balance with the forests and its fauna. We don’t sully everything we touch with oily marks, and we don’t drain the world of blood for entertainment.”

Both the vampires frowned, and Carmilla pulled Emiel from his seat and out of earshot.

“And what will you do, _me wedd_?” Ida pressed, “Run off to start a war with Aelirenn? You smolder in your hatred, though it is but a cover for your helplessness.”

“At least Aelirenn would have us do _something_. I will not sit and watch the forest die around me. _Va fail, Aen Saevherne,_ we will leave you to your soothsayer.”

Cedric took his bow in hand and stormed off. Aelirenn puffed her chest, sizing Ida up one final time before she followed, Iorveth at her side. Toruviel hesitated, watching the vampires. They had removed themselves from the center of the conversation, having far less interest in the troubles of elves than the wisdom of dragons, though Carmilla had hardly calmed. She bickered with Emiel, muttering under her breath in a language the elves did not recognized.

“Ida, you should return with us.” Toruviel’s face took on the stony façade of duty. “Cedric has been taking to drink. I can’t blame him for his choices, but you are not safe here.”

Ida bowed her head, “You must excuse me, dragon. Though I enjoyed our conversation, you did not tell me anything I did not already know. I trust you’ll see the _d’yaeblenn_ find their way out of this valley without incident?”

“They will not bring any to harm on my watch, dear,” said Borch, his eyes dancing, as though it were the simplest task.

“We will leave when we are ready.” Emiel asserted.

“No, you will leave when you are ready! I will leave now, with or without you.” Carmilla spat the words at him before dissolving into mist and flying out of the grove.

* * *

The evening air brought a chill and the dying winds of early spring brushed through the trees, adding their songs to the symphony of the night. Emiel and Borch remained in the shaded arbor, sitting across from one another on the stumps and stones and tangled roots that made up the forest floor. Through the heated afternoon they had been the only two among the gathering to keep their heads cool, and had found common ground in the aftermath, but eventually the conversation grew stale.

“It won’t do any good to go after her,” Borch broke the silence, “It would be best if you let her go now.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Emiel grumbled.

He had no intention of following Carmilla into the night. His pride would not allow her to ruin his fun, and there were plenty of ways to enjoy himself without her. The moon was young, and full enough to warrant celebration. He’d have to somehow lose his friend along the way, but disappearing acts were not difficult for vampires.

Borch seemed to sense the change in his companion, which was hardly surprising with a telepath. His bright eyes caught a dangerous spark in them, making his face seem less like a good-natured man’s and more like a deadly dragon.

The dragon gave Emiel a hard, stern look; the kind of look designed to freeze a person’s mind and make them think carefully about their next response, “You should know, Emiel Regis, that where I go I often slay monsters that I find. Sometimes these monster are men who act without honor, and sometimes they are monsters who look like men but act no differently. I try to live as an agent of Order.”

“You sound like some distortion of a witcher. Will you hire out your services to humans and hunt your own kind?" Emiel tried to move the conversation back into the realm of philosophy, and away from the implications Borch was getting at.

“Which side do you think you fall on? Order or Chaos?”

“If I wished to be judged, I’d have followed the elves,” _or Carmilla._ Emiel frowned at himself. He would _kill_ for a drink right now.

“We are all judged, whether we like it or not. If not by others than, some day, by ourselves.” Borch grabbed his finger and twisted it, pulling off a silver ring and offering it to Emiel in his outstretched palm. “I want you to have this.”

Emiel took the object and held it up to the starlight, twisting it around, inspecting its details. Twin serpents coiled and knotted on the band, catching the light with an unearthly glow. The material was surprisingly light, certainly not silver, and it didn’t feel like anything he’d touched before.

“This was a gift to me from one of your brethren. You could call him a kind of ‘humanist’,” Borch watched the light twinkling through Emiel’s fingertips, “It was made in your home world, and I have no right to it.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you giving me this?”

Borch knit his brows pensively, “When I look at you, I do not see a monster. What you have done is unforgivable, and what you will do more terrible still, but your species has a great capacity for change. The man who gave me that ring was once where you are now. So was I, in my own way. He passed his lesson to me as I pass it to you, and as you will pass it someday to another.

“What you’ve done is unforgivable, but what you have the capacity to do is immeasurable. One day you will hate yourself. When that day comes, remember this ring. The serpents coil in endless struggle, Chaos and Order. It’s a fight that lives inside us all. You have to choose which one you will serve.”

Emiel slipped the ring onto his finger, amazed that such an artifact even existed. Borch’s words didn’t mean half as much as the ring itself, but Emiel nodded to acknowledge them.

“Who was the one who gave you this?” Emiel couldn't help himself from asking.

“He called himself Khagmar.”


End file.
